


Kissed by an Angel

by AphroditesTummyRolls



Series: To Be At Home [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Both of them, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Fluff, Freckles, Incurable Romantics, M/M, NICOLO DI GENOVA IS FEELING TENDER IN THIS CHILI'S TONIGHT, Returning to Malta (The Old Guard), Tenderness, but everything but the mermaid au is in that verse technically, but it doesn't have to be read that way, gentle sweet men, just a little though, mostly - Freeform, technically in the To Be Human verse, technically the prequel to Feed My Soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:09:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27394006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AphroditesTummyRolls/pseuds/AphroditesTummyRolls
Summary: He sank his fingers into Joe’s curls and felt him release all his body’s tension into the sofa cushions beneath him. He sighed, nuzzling into Nicky’s touch, and he grinned. It was warm and bright— just for Joe, only ever for him— as he zeroed in on the strip of skin under Joe’s eyes and across the delicate bridge of his nose.Joe had freckles. Thousands of little pinpricks that dusted his cheeks like a galaxy when he got out in the sun— they framed his eyes and just a couple strayed up onto his forehead.They were one of Nicky’s favorite things.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: To Be At Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008825
Comments: 66
Kudos: 307





	Kissed by an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Happy nanowrimo, everybody! 
> 
> I'm focusing on building up the new chapters for my WIP this month (so if you like Here There be Monsters and/or A Man Like That, your time is COMING). But before I did that, I needed to write this incredibly gentle Malta moment-- BECAUSE MY COUNTRY IS T E R R I F Y I N G. 
> 
> So, here's some Nicky, getting poetic and feeling Some Things about Joe and his reactions to the sun. 
> 
> I need validation, please validate me by commenting <3 enjoy

Nicky felt his lips flicker into a private smile, setting the pot on the stove to simmer and turning to look out the window into the garden. Joe’s garden. 

He was humming to himself— Nicky couldn’t quite hear it, but he could tell by the set of the other man’s jaw under his beard and the purse of his lips as he concentrated. The weeds wouldn’t rip themselves, the overgrown shrubs wouldn’t miraculously be already pruned and waiting for them. 

They were finally back in Valletta. Finally _home._

It had been long centuries since _home_ felt like a place— home was Joe, it was always Joe. Over their many adventures and travels, yes, there were places that they stayed for long months or years. There were even places that they’d held onto, like Provence and Toledo, Dakar and New York. 

Valletta was different, though. 

In Valletta, they had rugs they’d picked themselves. There was soft, well worn furniture that set something at ease in Nicky’s chest when he’d pulled off the dusty sheets that morning. There was a bookcase of the trashy true crime paperbacks that he collected from airports, side by side with Joe’s elegant poetry in a seamless mix. Their clothes hung in the closet, and their favorite coffee mugs were waiting in the cupboard. The linen drapes were buffeted by the gentle breeze, clearing the stuffy air out while they opened all the windows. Flowers from the market sat on the sills. 

Their lives demanded that they travel light, always on the road with nothing but their packs of provisions and the barest necessities, all the way back at the beginning. Even before, Nicky lived an ascetic life. But not here. Here they _chose_ the things they wanted, and had the time to nest in their own little space. All the things they couldn’t bear to lose, but couldn’t carry with them? They were here. Their most precious memories were kept safe in the cellar— in Valletta, they could have _things._

They could have _a garden._

The late afternoon sun was shining over the old stone wall and onto Joe’s shoulders, the promise of the approaching summer baking into the fabric of his shirt. His curls were puffed out from the heat of work, still haphazard and fluffy from the long car ride— they warmed Nicky’s chest and loosened some of the tension in his spine. 

Ever since Merrick, they hadn’t even been a garden’s-distance apart. Not willingly, at least. Every time one of them had to walk away there was a tightness that pulled at Nicky’s gut, an anxiety that stretched between them like a rubberband about to snap. It had lessened, sure. It had started to heal once Andy insisted that they indulge themselves in whatever comfort they needed— but even now, Nicky still felt the itch and stretch of distance. 

As if he felt the pull, too— or maybe just felt Nicky’s increasingly panicked gaze— Joe looked up from the last of his pruning. He met Nicky’s eyes through the kitchen window, his breath catching in his throat when Joe _grinned._

The sun backlit his head, settling into his brown skin like he was luminous himself— the rays fit themselves around his high cheekbones, around the shells of his ears, into the soft edges of his beard. They were tracing the curls around his head, forming a halo of golden light. Like a regal mosaic from the old byzantine palaces, gold leaf and precious gems were set into the core of his being. 

How could anyone dare to cage someone who was the very essence of life? Of sunlight? 

Nicky did not think of Merrick, that doctor, or _Booker_ as he found his wits enough to wave dumbly at the vision that had sprouted in his garden. He didn’t think of all the forces that had tried to rend the two of them apart, because they were safe now— they were at _home_ now. In their own little nest, contained only by the walls they had chosen to keep them apart from the world. 

Joe waved back. His hands were dirty— covered in earth from nurturing the neglected plants around him. They were big, and gentle, and able to create such beautiful things. Nicky had never been one for tears. He was not going to cry at the sight of those hands, or that gentle beauty, or the fact that suddenly Joe seemed _much_ further away. 

Maybe he was still a little overtired. Maybe it was the long trip from Provence to Valletta. Maybe it was the realization that they were finally _here,_ after thinking they might never be able to come back. He didn’t know how much of his thoughts were broadcasted on his face, but Joe’s grin faltered. Nicky was still smiling, still trying to be okay— and if it was anyone else, it might have worked. But there was no one else there to fool, and Joe was already halfway to the garden door. 

“Nico?” His voice was tight with worry, and Nicky didn’t remember walking around to the door to meet him halfway, but apparently he had. 

Joe nearly collided with him, anticipating needing to rush around the jut of the countertop to get his hands on him. His eyes were round and glistening when Nicky caught him around the hips and squeezed. He felt solid and warm. 

“Babe, what’s going on?” He finally managed to get out, one of those hands coming to cup Nicky’s jaw. He hummed, pushing into the point of contact. _“Nicolo.”_

 _“I’m okay.”_ He replied, all languages but his own falling away. _“I’m sorry, Amore mio. I didn’t mean to take you away from your work.”_

Joe hummed and stroked his thumb over Nicky’s cheek, understanding. _“No apologies, Hayati. You don’t need one.”  
_

The sun was still etched into every centimeter of him, keeping him warm and bright until he nearly glowed— it suited him. Nicky tucked his fingertips under the fabric of the other man’s shirt to feel the skin there, blinking away the wetness clinging to his lashes and letting the coils of anxiety loosen around his heart. 

_“D’you want to talk about it?”_

Nicky only shook his head, _“We’ve talked about it a million times.”_

_“We can talk about it a million more times if you need—!”_

But that wouldn’t help. They both knew that. Rehashing the terrible feeling of being missing from each other, and how close they had come to losing Andy, and _why_ Booker did what he did— none of it would help anymore. It would only reopen the wounds. He just shook his head. 

_"Then what can I do? What do you need?”_

What did he need? 

Nicky studied Joe for a long, quiet few moments, the only sounds being the far away sea and the muted bubbling of dinner on the stove. His open, expressive face was just as beautiful as it always had been— the crinkles in the corners of his eyes a little more set in by the tan of late spring, eyes liquid and dark as they studied Nicky right back. A deep warmth rose up in him, tingling up his spine and settling around his heart like an aura— like rays of the sun, reflecting from Joe and right into Nicky’s chest. 

He loved him. He _loved_ him. 

The small, private smile from earlier tugged at his lips again, blossoming a little brighter as he caught sight of something that nearly erased every other thought. His heart soared, one hand coming up to touch Joe’s face. The blessed, patient man let him, just letting Nicky maneuver them both backward, shuffling feet across the floor to the sofa. 

He sat Joe down in the middle of the sofa, listening to his little huff of laughter and feeling the way his hands lingered at his waist. It was as if Joe was barely restraining himself from pulling Nicky down after him— but he didn’t have to bother. 

Nicky pressed one knee to the side of Joe’s hip, telegraphing every move as he lowered himself down to straddle his lap. Joe smiled softly, looking up at him with a flicker of something confused and amused in his eyes. 

“Hi.” Nicky finally said, getting settled in his seat, as close to Joe as he could get himself. 

That was when the grin came back in full force— dazzling and bright, full of humor, just for Nicky. He chuckled, “Hello my Love.” 

Hands circled his waist and came to rest at the small of his back. There was no rush or manipulation in those hands, just keeping him close for whatever Nicky needed— the pressure was steady and comforting. 

“You’ve been out in the sunshine.” He murmured, not wanting to break the pleasant hush over their corner of the world. 

“The weather’s been good.” Joe hummed. 

Nicky slipped his hands up from his shoulders, trailing along the sides of his neck— so gently, pressing against the pulse fluttering under his jaw. He stroked over his beard. His fingertips massaged the muscle of his jaw where he knew Joe would sometimes clench in his sleep. He petted over the curls of his beard and watched every flicker of emotion pass over his face— the ever present love, so all-encompassing and brilliant, in every pore of his face; the concern that kept up a steady drumbeat that Nicky could feel in the flex of his hands over the base of his spine; the occasional passes of confusion tightened his jaw and furrowed his brow, but Nicky just shooed them away with a stroke of his thumb between his eyebrows and down his cheek. 

He sank his fingers into Joe’s curls and felt him release all his body’s tension into the sofa cushions beneath him. He sighed, nuzzling into Nicky’s touch, and he grinned. It was warm and bright— just for Joe, only ever for him— as he zeroed in on the strip of skin under Joe’s eyes and across the delicate bridge of his nose. 

Joe had freckles. Thousands of little pinpricks that dusted his cheeks like a galaxy when he got out in the sun— they framed his eyes and just a couple strayed up onto his forehead. 

They were one of Nicky’s _favorite things._

 _“Hayati…”_ he sighed, leaning in. Joe craned his chin up, making to meet his lips, but Nicky started instead with the spattering of little dots across his brows. He kissed each one with slow, steady reverence— the presses of his lips were hot, just full enough to be slick, but still chaste. Still without any agenda beyond this moment and this sofa.

He kissed across his brow ridge from temple to temple, before pressing one last one to Joe’s third eye. The hands on his tailbone were stroking slow circles, Joe’s thumbs holding him still, nearly flush to his chest. Eyes closed, Nicky breathed in the scent of him— the rosemary and earth, sun baked tangerine peels and sea salt. Clean, natural sweat, and sandalwood. _Yusuf._

“You know you are the most beautiful thing?” He murmured, his mouth moving over that same spot in the center of his love’s forehead, freckles under his lips. “Just when I think you can’t get more beautiful, the sun maps whole constellations across your skin…” 

The tip of Joe’s nose nuzzled into the juncture of Nicky’s neck and jaw, chuckling as he pressed his own lips over his heartbeat. “And you say that you have no talent for words…” he teased, nipping at the sensitive skin just once before pulling back to look at him. 

His eyes were deep wells— they always were, he wasn’t surprised. Joe had expressive, dark eyes, always one or two kind thoughts away from glittering with tears. His lashes were damp now, clumping together in the corners, and his lips were slack from the feeling of Nicky all around him. His arms tugged him just a little bit tighter where he sat on his lap, holding him. 

No one was going to try to take them apart. Not now, not here. Nicky weaved his fingers through Joe’s hair, scratching gently along his scalp, pushing him back into the sofa and tilting him up toward his lips. 

The next kiss was to his nose— just the sweet tip of it, then up the bridge and to the sides. He could feel the fringe of his lashes against his skin as his eyes fluttered closed, and just for that he kissed each lid. 

Every kiss across the apples of his cheeks was as measured and intentional as the last. He worked his way over the jut of each cheekbone, and then down to the edge of his beard. 

A hot palm was pressed over his back like a brand, holding him tightly. Their chests were close enough to feel each other’s warmth, and Joe’s heartbeat was strong and slow— relaxed. 

Nicky didn’t pull back until he was good and ready, every little brown mark on his love’s face acknowledged and treasured. But when he _did_ pull away to take in Joe’s face, he couldn’t help his grin. He couldn’t help but feel completely at _peace._

He almost could’ve been asleep, but Nicky knew he wasn’t. His breath was even and long, drawn in in deep pulls, like he was drawing breath purely from Nicky’s air, his scent. Every muscle was loose, melted into the sofa cushions, illuminated only by the pink and orange sky that lit up the window. The sun was sinking past the garden wall and into the sea beyond. 

Joe’s eyelashes brushed his flushed cheeks, the swaths of freckles looking even darker against the dusk rose color highlighting his brown skin. Nicky brushed his hands over his hair once again, finally setting his sights on those soft lips. His jaw was slack, and the full, pink lips were parted just slightly. He knew these lips better than he knew his own body, his own life— and yet, there was something new. 

A freckle. One, tiny dark mark, just barely visible before the line of his mustache, at the tip of his Cupid’s bow. 

Heart thumping as if he’d never kissed him before, Nicky finally, _finally_ gave in and pressed their lips together. They slotted together like they always had— his beard scraped Nicky’s clean shaven face, and Joe’s lips pushed up to his as easy as breathing, sweet and gentle. Unhurried. A long, drawn out hum rumbled from his chest, sounding almost like a purr to Nicky’s ears. 

Pulling back wasn’t to go far— their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling as they caught between them. And the silence stretched. 

Finally, Joe smiled against his mouth, pressing one last, chaste kiss to the upturned corner, and looked at him. “You know, they say that freckles are places where you’ve been kissed by angels.” His eyes teased. 

“Well, we have plenty of time to test that theory.” 

“All the time in the world.” Joe chuckled, deciding it was his turn to card his fingers into Nicky’s silky hair, before his gaze fell into something more serious and pressing. “We’re safe, Nico. No one will try to separate us here.” 

Of course, he _knew._

Nicky sighed, letting the words settle in his chest like a balm. He didn’t nod until he truly felt like he believed him. 

“How about this, then: we take this time, and I go get dinner off the heat before it burns. We go upstairs and draw a bath, and you let me condition the beautiful curls I just ruined with that shea butter you bought at the market?” 

Joe grinned— that dazzling thing that singlehandedly lit the rapidly darkening living room. “I think you have the best ideas, Nico.” 

At some point, Nicky got off Joe’s lap, feeling a little too cold without his hands on his back and their body heat mingling. Joe went upstairs to start filling the tub, and Nicky dared to look into the pot to find that nothing had burned. 

As he walked up the stairs to find Joe, he heard him humming to himself. It was a wordless little tune, something old that neither of them could remember the lyrics to. Steam twisted through the air, rich with the smell of sandalwood, cinnamon, and earth. 

It felt like _home._


End file.
